


Counterclockwise

by dotfic



Series: syntaxverse [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Future Fic, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-22
Updated: 2010-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:01:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotfic/pseuds/dotfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn't always get why Castiel does the things he does. At least not right away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counterclockwise

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: Set in the [syntax 'verse](http://dotfic.livejournal.com/tag/syntax%20%27verse). If you want to place it, a few months after [A Better Fate Than Wisdom](http://dotfic.livejournal.com/229192.html). You don't have to have read the prior stories to read this. Thank you to maboheme for the sharp beta read.

Dean's still getting used to a lot of weird things about Castiel. Sure, he's wearing jeans and t-shirts instead of that same old suit and trenchcoat all the time. But one minute he's looking more and more like a regular guy, grinning, making a _pun_ , and the next he's going all still and dangerous and...weird. If Dean's standing close enough, the hairs on the back of his arms go up. Standing next to Castiel even when he's not turning on the mojo and tapping into some angelic form of adrenaline isn't like standing near other people. It's weirder still when Jimmy's around. Sam's told Dean more than once to think of them as twin brothers, which Dean sort of does, and at moments he thinks they look alike and at others he doesn't. Castiel has his own way of doing everything, of moving and talking. So even if technically he may be Jimmy's blood, connected to Jimmy's bloodline, and even if their eyes are exactly the same color, and they share the same shape of jaw and nose, at times Dean no longer believes they were once in the same body, that Castiel's current form is a copy of Jimmy's.

Not that Dean minds the weirdness. Sure, sometimes it's freaky and they have to explain a lot of shit to Castiel that gets more awkward the more Castiel learns about being human. They forget there are things the guy doesn't know. At least he's stopped trying to tell every waiter and waitress their life story and offer words of comfort. Because dude, that gets embarrassing fast.

Dean kind of likes the weirdness, though.

They're exhausted, their clothes stained with soot and sweat and a little blood. Even with Lucifer back in his cage, and the Apocalypse No Longer, the clean-up is eating away at all of them. They spend long hours thinning out pockets of demons that are resentful of being on the losing side, weakened and more vicious for it.

Plus, there's always something else to hunt.

The three of them find a motel with vacancies, and Sam staggers off towards his room, saying he just wants to sleep for three days and he can't sleep if Dean is fussing over him. Sam's not bleeding or limping, so Dean lets him go and then face-plants onto the bed in the room he shares with Castiel. He lies there immovable, too tired to even fall asleep, staring at the stupid pattern on the stupid bedspread, until Cas starts undoing the laces of Dean's boots, tugging them off Dean's feet, then starts pulling and pushing him in the direction of the shower.

The water pressure's weak, but the water's hot, and Dean will take what he can get. He turns his face up against the stream, his palms braced against the tiles, lets the heat wash over sore muscles. The soot and blood swirls in thin circles around the drain and vanishes. He's not hurt badly. It's only scratches and dirt.

Castiel makes a lot of noise when he opens the bathroom door, clearing his throat, hitting his knuckles against the wood loud enough that Dean hears it over the drumming of the water. He's trying really hard, this deference to Dean's space, and maybe to Dean's long-ingrained instincts, because if Cas popped in behind him in the shower with no warning, Dean might take a swing before he realized who was there.

Dean pulls the dull green plastic shower curtain back, finds Cas standing there in his t-shirt, jeans, and bare feet like he's not sure what's next, so Dean reaches out a soapy hand, twists his fingers into the cotton of Castiel's t-shirt. He makes wet marks on the light blue fabric as he pulls Castiel towards him. He covers Cas's mouth with his own while the stream of water falls over both their faces, matting Castiel's hair to his head, soaking the top of his shirt. Then Cas pulls back, damp and breathing hard before he pulls his t-shirt off and kicks his way out of his jeans, eyes going a washed-out blue through the steam.

He steps in behind Dean, small frame and wiry muscle, arms circling him from behind, and times like these, the only weird part is how weird this doesn't seem at all. Castiel is warm soap-slippery human-feeling skin, tongue at the base of Dean's neck, then traveling down his back, hands sliding over Dean's chest and arms, skimming carefully at the scraped areas. Castiel makes soft low needy sounds in his throat when Dean turns and thrusts against him. There's a slight taste of soap as Dean puts his mouth against Castiel's neck. Dean comes with his back against the cold tiles and Castiel's hand around his cock and the hot water beating down on them both.

* * *

Dean's getting used to this, Castiel's body fitted comfortably along his, the sheet bunched over and around them. Cas still doesn't need to sleep, as far as Dean knows, but his eyes have gone soft and his limbs relaxed. His head's on Dean's chest, the amulet sliding out of the way, landing near Dean's shoulder.

The motel's made up of small individual cabins in a faux-rustic style. Dean considers himself lucky there isn't a deer head. The window is open a few inches, curtain nodding in the wind.

Castiel turns halfway onto his back, still fitted under Dean's arm, his legs sliding along Dean's. He holds one arm up, his palm flat. A tiny crease of concentration forms between his eyes.

Things get odd again as the curtain's movement slows to an unnatural, lazy sway. The dust motes captured in the sunlight coming in through the window hover sluggishly, becoming hyper visible in their near stillness, golden specks of light.

"Uh...what're you doing?" Dean expects his voice to come out distorted, like a record played at the wrong RPM, but he sounds normal.

Without answering, Castiel twists his hand. His other hand rests at Dean's hip, finger stroking the skin.

Dean draws his head back to see him better. "Cas?"

There's silence, only their breathing to break it, the rustle of the sheet.

"Um..." Dean says.

"Yes?" Castiel fixes him with a stare, his eyes going a little less soft.

"Why're you doing...whatever you're doing?"

Castiel just looks at him.

"I mean, are you showing off? Or practicing so your mojo doesn't get rusty? You're showing off, aren't you? Show off." Dean reaches up and grabs for Castiel's wrist.

But Castiel moves his hand out of reach, lean muscles of his arm tensing. He keeps his palm flat, and the curtains still move in their slow, strange motion. The dust motes rotate around each other, and even the light seems pulled into whatever Castiel is doing. The sunlight almost looks like a substance, gone to a golden trapped liquid.

"You don't have to, you know. Show off. Not for me."

"I'm not."

Dean lets out an exasperated breath. "Then what?"

Castiel's free hand travels up from Dean's hip, along his rib cage, and stops, palm warm against Dean's skin, fingers spread wide over the tattoo. "I'm slowing time," Castiel says.

"Seriously? You can do that?"

"Only by a few seconds, and only for a short duration."

At times Castiel's a lot like a puzzle that Dean could get if he could only fit all the pieces together just so. He's having that sense of missing a few pieces again, and it always seems to happen when he thinks he's found them all.

"Okay, but why..." And then Dean thinks of a reason anyone would do something like that, and he can't talk.

"Because," Castiel says again, speaking the word very deliberately, his voice gone low, almost to a whisper. His mouth finds Dean's jaw while he keeps his arm extended, palm in the air.

A piece snaps into place.

"Oh," says Dean, and something catches in his chest.

  
~end

+inspired by [this](http://xkcd.com/162/) xkcd cartoon.


End file.
